


Knead It Out

by akire_yta



Series: prompt ficlets [584]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 23:39:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16842730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: thebaconsandwichofregret askedPrompt stress baker Scott pretty please





	Knead It Out

“Report.”

Gordon always pictures John answering calls mid-stride, so hearing that _snap_ and seeing John indeed striding down the hall towards him has Gordon instinctively jumping to attention. “Did you smell baking from space, Johnny?”

“I’ve got a warning setup on the oven thermometer,” John says, so poe-faced Gordon can’t tell if it’s truth or a lie. As John sweeps past, Gordon lets himself get swept up in the motion. “And how bad?”

Gordon frowns, wrinkling his nose. “Brioche buns.”

“Shit.” John stops so suddenly Gordon runs right into him. John rocks easily with the impact, catching and redirecting Gordon around him until Gordon is in front, leading the way with John’s hands on his shoulders. “Come on, lead the way”

“Via the drinks cabinet?”

“Alcohol is Plan M.”

Gordon has a finely honed sense of self-preservation, so he yells “CHOO CHOO” as he chugs into the kitchen with a steady beat, dumping John at the counter, pilfering a bun, and continuing on to freedom with a loud whistle.

John doesn’t even raise an eyebrow as he slips onto a counter stool. “Brioche buns,” he nods at the delicate folds resting on a tray, ready for an oven. “Table knots, and is that a cob sourdough?” Usually Scott did fiddly or patient baking. John couldn’t remember the last time he did both together. “Talk to me Scotty,” he says, ignoring the flour already clinging to his palms as he rests his hands on the counter.

Scott smooths his apron down. “So guess who has the fastest jet on the planetn and got dumped today.”

John glances towards the alcohol cabinet, but makes a move for the coffee pot instead. “Damn. Sorry.”

“She was sick of me being late. Ironic.” Scott dumps a bowl of dough onto a floured board as he talked, half to John, half to himself, and began to knead with a furious nervous energy. “She knew I was busy, couldn’t she see…I tried, man, I really tried.”

John knows better than to pull Scott from the kitchen. Instead, he settles back on his perch, coffee and cream, butter and jam standing by. “I know, Scott. I know.”

Scott picks up and hurls the dough onto the board with a hollow slap. His flour-coated hands grip the edge of the counter as he stops just breathe. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Come on, beat up that dough and tell me all about it.”

That gets him a small laugh. Punching the dough down to test the rise, Scott covers it with a towel and pulls up a stool. Accepting the mug off John, he chinks the edge against John’s cup and starts from the beginning.


End file.
